Page 153 of Pretender

To call you my wife.”

Aiden looks up and a collective sigh ripples through the crowd before the applause kicks in. “To Will and Amara. Will and Mum,” Aiden says over the applause, and raises his glass to the happy couple, and then to the rest of us, who all raise our glasses with him, repeating his words.

“To Will and Amara.”

Aiden’s eyes lock with mine, he’s a blur through my tears (they won the battle), but I smile at him.

“May I?” Aiden asks when the first slow song starts. We’ve not had a chance to talk since the speech. Being the son of the bride comes with a lot of attention, especially after you recite a poem you’ve written and when you’re this handsome, because oh my, these ladies—old and young—are batting their eyelashes at my Italian man.

Yes. My man. I’m going to keep him.

With the conversation we had last night, him going to therapy, the look in his eye when he first saw me entering the room in this blue dress from Florence, that heartfelt poem… He was so far out of his comfort zone, being vulnerable like that in front of everyone. Sharing his words about his dad—despite being unable to finish the thought this time—and about his notion of love and personal flaws with the room.

He’s so right in everything he said.

We have to try.

Everything he’s done comes together as the kind of love that’s worth choosing every day. That’s worth fighting for.

The cute, shaking, deliciously nervous Aiden kicked me over the edge into the decision, and I’m certain it’s the right one. Especially when he looks at me the way he does right now.

My hand is right at home in his, and, for the second time in two months, we dance under a floral canopy to a soft, purring version of Presley’s ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’. This time I don’t get a wave of sadness for Aiden, as I did then, when I thought he had given up on love and couldn’t find it. Now I get chills from the comfort of his arm around my waist, his hard pecs flexing under my hand, and his strong, long fingers wrapping around the other. I lean into his neck, breathing in his scent, kissing the soft skin above his collar.

“I missed you,” I whisper, blinking away the stinging behind my eyes. His breath hitches, and I pull back to take him in. He blinks at me, tucking his bottom lip in, making the little dimple on the side of his chin pop.

“I was so scared I’d lost you,” he whispers, and lets out a small chuckle, blinking fast. I move my hands to lock behind his neck.

“Aiden,” I say, and the world stands still around us, although the butterflies in my stomach are anything but—they’re raging, in a good way. “I love you.”

He grins and cups my jaw, his eyes scanning my face. “You know those words were for you, then?”

I nod.

“I love you, Linnea.”

“Are you going to kiss me yet?” I say with a laugh, and he plants a kiss on my smiling lips. Hugging him tightly, I kiss my way down his jaw and burrow my face into the crook of his neck, relishing having his strong arms around me again.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

what happy looks like

AIDEN

“Hold on,” I say, laughing as I read through the first part of the blog post. I’m propped up on my elbows in bed, where Linnea and I have spent the past days entirely naked. “Henry Brown. A fake and a liar since he was a teenager. Why am I not surprised?”

“I kind of feel better that I’m not the only person he fooled. Does that make me a bad person?” Linnea asks.

“No, he’s the only bad person here,” I say, continuing to skim through the blog. “I’m even a little bit fond of the blogger right now.”

Linnea snorts next to me, and I turn to her. She snuggles her cheek into the pillow, her blond hair flowing behind her. The light from the bedroom window reflects in her eyes, making the cobalt blue of them sparkle. I lean down and kiss her, and she runs a hand through my hair. Tossing the phone aside, I instead devour her mouth, brushing my tongue over hers when she opens for me. I run a hand down under the thin sheet she’s been hiding under, finding the warm, naked skin I love so much.

With a groan, I fling the sheet off her, turn her onto her back and cover her body with mine.

“Mmm, you’re up again,” she mumbles against my lips, wiggling her hips under me, teasing my erection.

I chuckle. “It’s a constant situation around you,” I say, and kiss her again, rubbing the head of my hard-on through her slit, up to her clit. She moans and arches against me. Leaning on my elbow I reach over and grab a condom from her side table. It’s the last one. We’ve been locked in her house, her room, since we got back from Devon Sunday, and it might be Tuesday today, but I’ve lost count and I don’t give a shit.

Having almost lost Linnea, experiencing that complete despair, I’ll never do anything stupid like that again.